


One For the Books

by Carrieosity



Series: Understanding That Reference [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Books, Fluff and Humor, Librarian Castiel (Supernatural), Libraries, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mechanic Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-12 07:16:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18441680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carrieosity/pseuds/Carrieosity
Summary: When Castiel is selected to serve on an award council for the national library association, Dean couldn't be more proud of his amazing boyfriend. He had no idea what was about to happen.(Or: Castiel apologizes for nearly burying them both alive in piles of books with a promise and a question.)





	1. The Year of the Book

**Author's Note:**

> The UTR story is back with another installment!

Dean wiped the sweat from his forehead. Late March wasn’t exactly sweltering, and the brisk wind was actually making things feel even chillier than the season had a right to be, but he’d still managed to work up some perspiration as he’d labored away at the flower beds in front of the house.

 _Our house,_ he thought to himself in satisfaction, emphasizing the plural possessive in his thoughts. It had been a month since Castiel had asked him to move into the place with him, and a couple of weeks since Dean had brought over the last box, but it would require much more time than that for thinking about it to get old. Evidence of that truth was in the spade Dean was wielding against the recently thawed soil; he was no gardener himself, and Castiel had admitted that he’d never had the time to tend to the landscaping as he would have liked, but something about the warm glow in Dean’s chest had him wanting to _nest._ He couldn’t wait for Castiel to get home and see the work he’d begun.

Dean heard Castiel’s car approaching from around the block, and he grimaced. His own car might be more prone to roar than to purr, but it was a healthy roar. The noise coming from Castiel’s engine was more of a rattling wheeze, and Dean had his hands on his hips and a sour look of reproach on his face when Castiel finally pulled into the driveway.

“We’ve talked about this,” Dean said the moment the driver’s side door creaked open. “If the car’s making those kinds of noises, don’t drive it anyway. One of these days, it’s gonna freaking catch fire or something if you don’t quit ignoring its cries for help. We need to just get you a new car.”

“I like my car,” Castiel protested, heading around to the trunk.

Dean snorted. “Wouldn’t know it, the way you ignore what it’s trying to tell you, then. I might have managed to bring it back from the dead before, but next time might be the straw that breaks the Pimpmobile’s back.”

Castiel shook his head over the teasing name Dean had given the gold Continental, but he didn’t argue. Leaning into the trunk, he lifted a cardboard shipping box with a small grunt. He put it on the ground before pulling out a second one, slightly larger than the first and no less heavy. “Oof,” he muttered as he dropped it on top of the first, then slammed the trunk lid—firmly, with a push at the end in experienced deference to the finicky latch.

“What’s all that?” Dean asked, glancing at the packages. “Spring cleaning your office?”

“Ah, no,” Castiel replied. A pleased smile lit his face, one that said he had exciting news to share. “I may have forgotten to mention, but as it happens, I was selected to serve on a national book award council again.”

“Wow, that’s incredible!” Dean dropped the spade and trotted across the grass to sweep Castiel into his arms and off his feet. Castiel gasped, then laughed as Dean spun around with him held tight against his chest, before he was deposited back onto the ground and kissed soundly. “I mean, you’re gonna have to explain to me what exactly that means, but it sounds like a huge deal.”

“Well, if you’re in a book-related field, it is,” Castiel said. “Most people don’t pay much attention. They might know about the Caldecott and the Newbery awards, just from when they were children, and they know about the New York Times Bestsellers list, which isn’t really an award. I was on the Notable Books Council for RUSA—that’s the ‘Reference and User Services Association,’ part of the American Library Association—three years ago, which selects each year’s top books for adults.”

“What, out of all the books in the world?” Dean asked.

“All the ones we can get our hands on and consider, anyway. It’s not easy, and I honestly think I needed those three years to recover. But a colleague of mine who’s become a good friend is the new president of RUSA, and she asked me personally if I would apply for the The Reading List Council this year. I couldn’t say no.”

“You’ll be amazing,” Dean said, pride making his heart swell. Certain other parts of his body were also finding his boyfriend’s intellectual prowess rather _stimulating,_ but he decided that could wait. “We should go out and celebrate. Just let me go clean up first, okay?” He grabbed a box and headed for the front door. The weight inside shifted slightly; whatever it was, it was certainly bulky.

“You’re covered in dirt,” Castiel finally noticed. “Were you preparing the ground for gardening, Dean?” His eyes widened as he took in the fresh earth that had been turned.

“Surprise,” Dean sang lightly, enjoying the way Castiel’s face lit up even more. “Soon your flowers will bring all the bees to the yard.”

Castiel laughed, smiling widely. “Damn right,” he said. “Thank you so much. It’s a lovely surprise.”

“So what’s in the boxes? I missed that part of the explanation,” Dean said as they entered the house. He dropped the box on the coffee table and wiggled his fingers to get some blood back into them.

“Ah, yes,” Castiel said. “It’s books.” Dropping his own box, he opened it; inside, there was a pile of new books, packed neatly and surrounded with pillow packs to protect the spines. “Every publisher wants to be on the list, you see, so they’ve already begun sending early copies of their writers’ works. I should warn you; last time around, the onslaught was…overwhelming.”

Dean waved a hand airily. “Ah, can’t have too many books, right? Isn’t that what you’ve told me? This is a problem that isn’t a problem.”

In retrospect, those words were obvious candidates for the category of “Famous Last.”

\---

“Sixteen more this time,” Castiel said as he came through the door. “At least they’re mostly graphic novels, and on the thinner side. I should be able to get through them pretty quickly.”

“Yeah, but sixteen books is sixteen books,” Dean said, eyeing the already crammed bookshelves in the front room. They had been rather full in April, but since the arrival of those first two boxes, the publisher packages hadn’t stopped coming. Castiel had been receiving anywhere from ten to twenty-five books every week, and they were accumulating quickly. “Can’t the library take them?”

“Most of them are pre-pubs,” Castiel sighed. “Advanced Reader Copies, which haven’t been fully edited yet. We’re not allowed to put them in our collection. Once the committee fully rules out a title, I’ll find somewhere to donate it, but until we make the decisions, I have to hold onto them. And we’re not all reading the same books in the same order.”

Dean pulled out one of the new arrivals. It looked interesting, he thought. “So we’re one of the first people to get our hands on this? It’s like a sneak preview?”

“Exactly,” Castiel agreed. “And you can feel free to tell anyone you like about it. The publishers would actually love for you to do that, so their presales will rise.”

“Cool,” Dean said, flopping onto a chair and beginning to thumb through the pages.

\---

“...and if that man argues _one more time_ that lesbian romances belong in the ‘Women’s Fiction’ category instead of ‘Romance,’ trying to say that they’re of ‘limited interest,’ I’m going to go _through his computer screen_ and teach him the real meaning of having something ‘shoved in his face.’”

“Go get ‘im,” Jo goaded, and Charlie sprawled across the table to offer Castiel a high-five. He nearly missed, having already downed several drinks beyond his usual Friday night Roadhouse intake. Dean lifted a brow in Jo’s direction and tried to subtly signal her to bring the check, but she was enjoying the diatribe too much to pay him any attention.

“That man,” Castiel growled, “that…that blight on the entire _profession_ . I have no idea why he even joined the council. All he does is complain about the books the rest of us suggest. He actually called _The Smoke_ gimmicky and obtuse! Personally, I think he just struggles to identify with anything not written in first-person perspective.”

“Wow, pissed-off Cas hits below the belt,” Sam muttered, leaning close to Dean’s ear with a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. Dean shoved his brother away, frowning.

“You don’t even know,” he muttered back. “He ain’t wrong, though. Listening to their group’s video chats, I want to punch this asshole, and I haven’t even read the books he’s bitching about. Freaking douchey British accent, sitting there on his webcam with a rocks glass of scotch, like he’s hosting some snooty PBS show.”

“He was a Newbery judge, you know,” Castiel added snidely, rolling his eyes. “Pompous ass, trotting that out every time he wants to get his way. He can take his Newbery experience and shove it right up his—”

“Okay, I think we’re about ready to head out,” Dean said, quickly rescuing a beer mug from being toppled by Castiel’s sweeping arm. He reached into his pocket for his wallet, then tossed a handful of bills to Sam. “Do me a favor and settle up for us, huh? I think I’ve gotta get this one out of here before this gets too incriminating.”

“Dean,” Castiel groaned, eyes wide and beseeching as he was hauled out of the booth and onto his feet. “It’s only _July._ How am I going to get through the rest of the year working with that…that pretentious, half-witted _troll?”_

“Hey, cheer up. Maybe he’ll accidentally get buried under the stacks of books, and you’ll never see him again.” Catching Castiel against his side as he sagged unsteadily, Dean wondered how much of an exaggeration that joke could really be.

\---

“You know, bookshelves aren’t that expensive. You can get some decent ones for not much money at Ikea,” Sam suggested as he staggered under half the weight of the shelf unit. Dean didn’t bother trying to reply until they’d maneuvered the bookshelf through the door of Sam’s house and out onto the sidewalk. Setting it down for a moment, both men rubbing their hands on their legs, he shrugged.

“We won’t need rows of bookshelves forever,” he explained. “Soon as Cas’s term on the committee is up, we’re going to be giving out books like it’s bookworm Trick-or-Treat. Borrowing makes more sense.”

“Why bother at all, then?” Sam asked. “Why not just keep them in boxes, or in the basement?”

“You haven’t seen the house lately,” Dean said wryly. It was midway through September, and by his count, there were now over five hundred books sitting in various spots around their home. Castiel had books covering his nightstand, books piled on the coffee table, and books stacked on the kitchen counter. The dining room had been all but taken over by boxes of books, and Dean had learned the hard way not to try reorganizing the madness; there was apparently a system by which Castiel was working his way through the books. “Just trust me when I say that December can’t come soon enough. And on that note, guess what everyone’s getting for Christmas this year?”

Sam chuckled, and they stooped to lift the shelves and carry them the rest of the way to Sam’s waiting truck.

\---

“You have got to be kidding,” Castiel was growling, frustration thick in his voice. Dean tiptoed into the den, trying to keep clear of the view from the webcam aimed at where his boyfriend sat on the sofa. As quietly as he could, he slid a plate of pie and a fork across the table toward Castiel, who was glaring at the laptop screen.

“I’m quite serious,” someone was replying over the computer’s speakers. “It’s reasonable to take the public’s feedback into consideration, I feel, and my library patrons—”

“I will _not_ support adding a _Fifty Shades_ book to our shortlist just because it has the longest holds list in your system!” Castiel spat.

“Gentlemen,” a woman’s voice interjected, “perhaps if we put it to a vote…”

“One could argue that the people have already voted.”

Castiel choked on whatever he was about to say, dropping his face into his hands. From behind his palms, Dean could hear him muttering what sounded like, “Six more weeks…six more weeks.”

\---

Christmas nearly snuck up on Dean and Castiel, appearing in store window displays and television ads that caught them both off-guard. Castiel had entered his library one morning in early December and had actually gasped in surprise at the large display of green-covered books that had been stacked into the shape of a holiday tree.

“It’s not that impressive,” said Linda, the children’s librarian who was adding tiny red board books to the structure to create the impression of ornaments. “We’ve been doing it for years, haven’t we?”

“I just hadn’t realized it was time for that yet,” Castiel explained, admiring the work. “I guess I’ve been caught up in RUSA work.”

“Condolences,” Linda said with a smirk. She’d done a stint on a Young Adult book committee once and had sworn off all such committee work ever since. “Don’t suppose any of the books you got were bright yellow? We still need the star, and not many book covers are the right color.”

“I’ll check,” he promised with a smile. “At least it’s almost over. The winners and the short lists are due at the end of the week, and I can put the whole thing to bed. Dean will be thrilled to have the space back.”

“He’ll be happy to have you back, too, I’ll bet,” Linda said. “My son told me he’d forgotten what it was like to have a mom who cooked actual dinners instead of throwing takeout menus on the table without even lifting my face from the book in my hand. He was only teasing, but it was definitely a strain on all of us.”

Castiel winced a little, thinking of missed dinners and lost weekends Dean had tolerated so graciously. Even the flower beds Dean had dug up for him, intending that Castiel be able to enjoy working in them all year, had turned out to be more Dean’s project than his own. His stomach twisted guiltily; he’d have to make it up to Dean in a big way.

“Will you be going to the Midwinter Conference for the award presentation?” Linda asked. “That’s Chicago this year, isn’t it?”

Nodding, Castiel replied absently. “Dean and I will be going up the Thursday before. He hates flying, so we’ll drive out early.” Suddenly, he knew, with blinding clarity, exactly how he was going to show Dean how grateful he was, how much he loved him. This year had been intense, but Dean was _always_ his rock, always supportive and caring and loving and amazing, and if he could put up with a year like this one, with the avalanches of novels and the fraying tempers over nonsense, then Castiel didn’t want to wait one more minute without making it clear how incredibly, blindingly in love he felt in return.

Well. Maybe he could wait a few more weeks. Chicago in the winter could be lovely, and there was definitely something to be said for ambiance. With more energy than he’d felt in months, Castiel pulled out his phone as he strode to his desk, opening a browser to search for jewelers.    


	2. Exhibition Hall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just popping the question? Well, that would be too easy.

“Wow,” Dean murmured, staring at the enormous crowd milling around the entrance to the giant hall. “Just…wow.”

“I know, right?” said Castiel, enjoying the awed expression on his boyfriend’s face.

“This is just…” Dean said, trailing off as he waved his hands in a futile search for a way to describe what he was experiencing. “Like, I didn’t know there were this many librarians in the  _ world, _ let alone all here in one place.” A woman passing them, professional lanyard dangling from her neck, gave a snort of laughter as she overheard him.

“I’m sure,” Castiel agreed. “After all, before we met, you didn’t even know there were  _ boy _ librarians.”

“Shaddup,” Dean said, blushing and jostling Castiel with his shoulder. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“It’s unlikely.” Castiel steered them to the registration table line, rifling through his messenger bag for the papers to show he’d already paid for his ticket. “You know, you don’t really have to come with me if you’d prefer not to. The reception for the book awards isn’t even in this building, and I could probably talk someone into letting you sneak in the back, just for that. You could go out and enjoy the city, and we could meet for lunch and afterward.”

“Nah, this looks interesting,” Dean rushed to reassure him. Honestly, when Castiel had initially suggested that Dean could attend the library conference on a day pass, he’d only agreed because he’d thought it would be fun to see Castiel in his element like this. Dean always got a kick out of seeing him in full librarian gear, after all; even a couple of years into a solid relationship, Dean’s kink hadn’t faded even a little, and it was all the stronger for being able to play out his fantasies whenever he wanted. 

Now that he was actually here and seeing the massive set-up, with towering displays and music and thrumming crowds lining up for whatever had them most excited to see or hear, Dean found himself strangely compelled to explore. He knew this wasn’t exactly his area of expertise, but all the time he’d spent growing closer to his very own librarian, listening to him rave or vent about his professional passions, had given Dean some insight into why this was so much more than just “Woodstock for Book Nerds,” as Jo had teased.

Castiel smiled indulgently. “Well, you don’t need to feel obligated to trail behind me all day, either,” he said. “Honestly, some of the book talks and lectures I want to attend  _ will _ be dull for you, and I don’t want you to feel guilty about that. There’s a lot to see, and you can—”

“Hang on, is that—” Dean cut in, squinting across the show floor. “Is that fucking Spike Trotman over there?”

Castiel tried to see where Dean was looking. “I couldn’t say, since I’m not sure what they look like. The name is familiar, though.” He pulled out his phone and typed quickly. “Oh, of course, Iron Circus comics. She founded them. Yes, I believe they have a booth here, so she’s likely here for that.”

“Holy shit!” Dean crowed. “I used to love  _ Templar!  _ That was her webcomic, which was completely amazing. God, when it ended, I had no idea what to do with myself.” He fidgeted a little, trying to see through the crowd to the booth in question. “Do you think I could get an autograph or something?”

“It’s the first day, and we’ll be here a while. You may even be able to get her to do a commission, if she’s not too busy,” Castiel suggested. “We’d be able to pick it up on the last day, so there’s no rush. If not, I’m sure she’d autograph one of her other books.”

“Oh, wow,” Dean said, feeling like he was about to levitate right off the floor. Now he started swiveling his head around, attempting to see what other surprises might be around that he hadn’t considered before. 

“In fact,” Castiel added, looking over the conference website, “there’s a sizable area dedicated to the Graphic Novels and Comics Round Table. And at eleven o’clock, there’s a panel on up-and-coming web comics. You might enjoy attending that. I’ve got an appointment scheduled to talk to our contracted database vendor then, anyway, and there’s no need for you to suffer through that. Shall we meet back up at noon? Scholastic often offers free sandwiches for lunch on the opening day.”

Dean grinned, planting a quick kiss on the bolt of Castiel’s jaw. “Careful, or you’re gonna hook me on these things,” he teased. Castiel slid his arm around Dean’s waist, and the two of them moved forward toward the front of the line.

\---

Hannah’s eyes were sparkling with excitement when she released Castiel from her hug. “So where is your sweetheart?” she said, squeezing his shoulders. “I’ve been dying to meet him for ages! He’s here, right? We’re still a go for your big plan?”

“Definitely,” Castiel said, feeling his grin grow as he was caught up in Hannah’s eager anticipation. “He’s over at the comics booths now. I was trying to come up with a reason to split up for a bit, but he handed me an excuse right off the bat. It was too easy. So, are we ready?”

Hannah winked, stepping back behind the table for the reference services division. She pulled a printed page from a binder and handed it over with a flourish. “All there, everybody signed off and happy to assist. It was actually pretty amazing, how many people were hot to jump right in the moment I started explaining what was going on.”

“I can’t thank you enough, really,” Castiel said, scanning over the sheet of paper happily. “I could have done something myself, but with your contacts, it went together so much more quickly than I could have managed, and he’ll never suspect a thing.”

“Don’t mention it,” Hannah replied. “It was totally my pleasure. Plus, I did owe you one, after making you work all year with Fergus.”

Castiel made a sour face. “Please don’t remind me. Hannah, I was more than happy to help out on the committee, but from now on, I will require advance assurance that no project in which I am to be involved will include that man.”

Hannah laughed, shaking her head. “Believe me, I know. You two are like oil and water, and if I’d had any control over that, I would have put him on a different committee. But you both survived, and no blood was shed.”

“There’s still the awards presentation, so don’t take the blunt objects out of hiding yet,” Castiel said darkly. “But I promise to try to avoid anything that could land me in jail. After all,” he said with a wave of the page in his hand, “I have very good reason to remain a free man in the foreseeable future.” 

Smiling, Hannah pointed a finger at his chest. “Just try to make sure I’m here at the table when he gets to our number. I want to get a look at him, make sure he’s up to my standards for you.”

“Believe me, he’s far out of my league, but I’ll do my best,” Castiel said, just as his phone buzzed in his pocket. “Ah, he’s finished with the panel and looking for me. Let the game begin!” And with a wave, he turned and made his way toward the center aisle, a shiver of anticipation covering his arms with goosebumps.

\---

“My arms are killing me,” Dean complained goodnaturedly, shifting his tote bag from one arm to the other. “You could have warned me that there was going to be so much free stuff all over the place.”

“You’re not actually required to take all of it, you know,” Castiel chuckled. “I would have thought you’d be a bit disenchanted with free books, after this past year.”

“But there were steampunk graphic novels!” Dean protested. “And the new book by that author you showed me last year, and a whole stack of comics from the indie table, and—”

Castiel was laughing hard by then. “Yes, yes, I know,” he said. “This is taking me back to my first big national convention. I had to pay to have multiple boxes shipped back, since my suitcases couldn’t have held all the books, even without my clothes in them. Do you want to redistribute the weight a little? My bags are lighter.”

“Yeah, sure. Gotta keep moving if we’re gonna win this thing, after all.” The moment Castiel had handed Dean the brochure for the convention scavenger hunt, with a prize package including a night in a deluxe Congress Plaza Hotel suite, Dean had been on a freaking mission. Honestly, it felt a little poignant to him, reminding him of how he and Castiel had gotten together in the first place; each clue, leading to a particular booth or table in the exhibit hall, was phrased like a riddle, requiring knowledge and creativity to solve. Between the two of them, they were working together like a well-oiled machine, and Dean would have been lying if he denied how it made his blood pump faster for all sorts of reasons.

“Okay, next one. ‘Old MacOrwell had a Farm, E-I-E-I-O. Orgy-porgy, Ford and fun, E-I-E-I-O. With a poo-tee-weet here and a poo-tee-weet there…’ Hey, that’s  _ Slaughterhouse Five. _ And Orwell, he wrote  _ 1984? _ ”

“And  _ Animal Farm, _ ” Castiel nodded. “The reference about ‘orgy-porgy’ is another book—”

“Sounds more like a movie, if you know what I mean.”

“Dean.” Castiel’s lips twitched with suppressed humor. 

“Okay, okay. Well, I don’t know that one, but between Orwell and Vonnegut, I think it’s about banned books. I saw a table with a bunch of posters about banned books somewhere over along that wall.”

“The Intellectual Freedom Round Table, probably,” Castiel agreed. They made their way quickly to where the IFRT banner hung over a table crowded with frequently challenged titles and information about advocacy. Dean approached the librarian standing behind the table.

“You guys the answer to number seven?” he asked. The woman looked startled and confused for the briefest of moments, looking back and forth between them. She glanced at the paper in Dean’s hand, then, and her eyes widened as her expression cleared.

“Oh, yes!” she said in a rush. “I’m sorry, it’s just…I just got here, filling in for the other girl. I completely forgot she told me about…that. Yes, here you go!” She fumbled under the table for her bag, from which she produced a stamp. Pressing it to the page in the correct circle, she giggled. “Looks like you’re on your way!” she said.

Dean frowned a little at her odd nervousness.  _ Must not get outside of her library much, _ he figured. “You get lots of other people here before us?”

“Oh! Um, no. Not too many. I’ve got my fingers crossed for you both! Good luck!” She looked about two seconds away from actual tears of joy, and Dean smiled and nodded as he got the hell away as quickly as he could.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he said, “but some of these librarians are the reasons why some stereotypes exist.” Castiel huffed wordlessly, looking conflicted; his lips were pressed tightly together, and his shoulders were shaking a little. He was probably stuck between his good manners and his love of solid snark, Dean decided. “Anyway, four more to go. We’ve got ten of the letters. I’m still stumped about what they’ll unscramble to say, though. Some sort of book phrase, probably? Or a title?”

“Mmmm,” Castiel hummed, still looking tense. His hands, Dean noticed, kept flexing and clenching where they gripped the straps of his bag. 

“Hey, you want to take a break?” he asked, concerned. “Your blood sugar might be dropping or something. You look sort of…off.”

“No!” Castiel blurted. “I’m fine! Just a little overwhelmed, I think. There’s a lot going on, and it’s just…ha!” He laughed, and it was a strange, strained sound. “No, let’s keep going, come on.”  

“Okay,” Dean said slowly.  _ Maybe it’s something in the air. Or just a librarian thing, surrounded by too many others.  _ “Okay, let’s finish up, so we can get you back to the hotel room. We can get a nap, decompress…get your shoulders to drop back down below your earlobes.” Shaking his head, he started reading the next clue.

\---

Castiel wasn’t going to survive. 

They’d finally made it to the last clue, and it was  _ so obvious _ at this point. He had no idea how Dean hadn’t figured out what was going on. He had every letter except the last ‘R,’ and the blanks at the bottom of the sheet were clear about it being a four-word phrase, as well as the number of letters per word. The final clue was an almost transparent allusion to how he and Dean had gotten together, and Castiel was  _ dying. _

He needed to hold it together. At this rate, they weren’t going to make it to the end because Dean was going to haul him off to a clinic for an emergency medical check. He kept sneaking glances at Castiel every few seconds, brow furrowed in concern; at one point, he’d actually pressed his hand to Castiel’s forehead to check for a fever.

“Read it again,” he asked, pushing Dean’s attention back to the page.

“‘From Apples to Apples to Trivial Pursuit, Librarians are the ones for whom to root. Their skills deserve the highest deference, they always understand that Reference.’” Dean groaned again, as he had the first time he’d read it. “You just wanted me to say it again, didn’t you? Don’t get cocky, I can still take you at trivia.”

Castiel refused to be distracted. “I think the key might be in the capitalized letter there at the end, don’t you?” He pointed at the paper.

“Yeah, probably,” Dean said with a nod. “But half this place is about references. There’s like five different encyclopedia booths alone.” He looked around the room aimlessly, and Castiel felt like screaming.

“Okay, but they also capitalized ‘Librarians,’” he said. “So…Reference? Librarians?” Castiel fought with himself, inwardly urging Dean to make the connection.

“Huh, what was the name of the group that set up committee that you were on?” Dean finally asked. “Wasn’t that a group for reference librarians?” 

“You’re right!” Castiel almost sighed in relief. He didn’t have the patience left to wait for Dean to check the map, so he pointed in the correct direction. “RUSA is this way. Let’s go.”

“Thank God we’re almost done,” Dean muttered. “My back can’t take more of this.” They were trudging along as quickly as Castiel could lead them without breaking into a jog, and the booth was almost in sight when a bearded man standing in front of an author table stepped into their path.

“Good afternoon,” the man said, holding out a paperback. “Would you like a free copy of my book? It’s about two brothers who travel around the country fighting monsters and demons and—”

“Thank you, no,” Castiel interrupted, barely slowing as he plunged past the author.

“Cas!” Dean said, sounding shocked. He grabbed Castiel’s hand pulled him to a stop. “Hey, sorry, man. We’re in a bit of a hurry, but I’ll take one,” he said to the author. “Sounds pretty good to me.”

“I hope you like it,” the man said sheepishly, smiling. “If you have time later, you can come back and I’ll autograph it for you. You probably won’t have time, though—you’ll be busy.” Confused, Dean tilted his head in question, and the man just shrugged. “Sometimes I get feelings about these things.”

“Dean, we should…” Castiel glanced over his shoulder; he could see Hannah waiting for them, watching with an enormous grin.

“Okay, okay,” Dean sighed, thanking the author again before following along. When they reached the booth, Hannah greeted them with far too much enthusiasm to be innocent, but Dean was apparently distracted by everything else, and he simply handed over the page.

“Well!” said Hannah warmly. “You’ve found them all, then!” She stamped the page, handed it back, then folded her arms and watched expectantly.

“Yeah, and I still don’t know what it says,” Dean grumbled. “Last word’s got to be ‘me,’ since it’s only two letters and it can’t be ‘to’ or ‘it’ without a ‘T.’ ‘Something something something me.’ Four vowels left, each word probably has at least one…” He scribbled away, and Castiel practically wrung his hands impatiently.

_ He’s gorgeous when he’s thinking, _ Castiel thought, appreciating the way that full lip was caught between perfect teeth, the way his eyes narrowed and gleamed with focus.  _ Come on, Dean, you can figure it out. _

“Second word could be ‘you,’” Dean murmured. “If I tried that, then…hmmm.” 

Castiel’s hand slipped into his jacket pocket, thumbing at the velvet box he’d been trying to ignore all afternoon.

“‘Ally’? No, can’t make another word like that. ‘Army’? I need a verb. ‘Will’? ‘Will you’...”

There was a beat of silence. Dean’s pencil stopped scratching. His eyes were riveted to the page. He didn’t look as though he were breathing.

Behind him, Castiel dropped to one knee.

“Cas,” Dean said, his voice gone hoarse. “Castiel, is this…did you…”

“Dean Winchester,” Castiel said, pulling his hand free from his pocket. Beside him, a group of women sucked in gasps of air in unison, clapping hands to mouths. Dean slowly turned to face him, lips parted and green eyes huge and bright against a face gone suddenly pale. “You are the most amazing man I have ever met, and the day you sent me that first message was the first day of the most incredible journey I’ve ever taken. I can’t imagine a more perfect traveling companion, and if you would do me the honor of spending the rest of our lives with me, I would—”

“Yes!” Dean burst out. He launched himself forward, nearly bowling Castiel over with the force of his embrace. The people around them were cheering, clapping, and snapping pictures; Castiel thought he heard Hannah crying as she tried to explain to her booth neighbors what was going on. All of it was just white noise. There was nothing that could take his focus from the feeling of the man he loved in his arms, shuddering through his own emotions.

Several long minutes later, Dean lifted his head from the crook of Castiel’s neck. “Wait,” he said, looking suddenly confused. “Does that mean we’re not going to get to go to the Congress Plaza after all?” 

The laugh that burst from Castiel nearly knocked them both to the floor. “How about for our honeymoon?” he proposed. Dean’s face grew even brighter, and at that moment nothing on earth could have dissuaded Castiel from kissing him senseless. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spike Trotman is real, and I've met her. She's awesome.  
> I don't remember whether Scholastic had free food at the conventions I've attended, so don't go telling them I sent you there for the sandwiches. ;)   
> Had to give a certain deity a cameo, didn't I? That was pure self-indulgence on my part, but I couldn't resist.

**Author's Note:**

> I spent a year on the Quick Picks committee for the Young Adult Services branch of ALA. There were over seven hundred books in my dining and living rooms, stacked in waist-high walls. It was...intense.


End file.
